Unbreakable Girl
by MagicalSwordsman
Summary: When Robin's demeanor gradually starts to change, it becomes clear to Lucina that the girl she once thought was unbreakable is just as broken inside as anyone else.


**Author's Note: Just wanted to mention quickly that this story is told from Lucina's perspective. That is all!**

* * *

 _ **Unbreakable Girl**_

* * *

She was absent from the morning's meal—again. This morning marked a full seven days of Robin declining to eat breakfast, a vast departure from her usual stance of, 'Always make sure to eat every morning,' the constant reminder neatly written in her book of notes. It was… strange. There was little else that could describe it as aptly as that.

Strange.

Truthfully, many of Robin's quirks were 'strange,' but this was different. When we first arrived, Robin was the one that convinced me to share meals with the other fighters. She was always here to accompany me, pushing me to step out of my comfort zone. And yet, I have recently found myself having to push Robin out of her comfort zone—knocking on her door at half past noon, pulling her by the cloak down winded stairwells and through long, decorative corridors. Her room had become a cocoon from which she never wanted to break free from, at least over the past month or so.

It was only getting worse as time went on. I knocked on her door to no answer from the other side. I practically dragged her down stairwells and shoved her down hallways. I had, for all intents and purposes, become her caretaker. Needless to say, it was a constant struggle. My knuckles met her door at dawn, but for what seemed to be the twentieth—or thirtieth, or fortieth, or fiftieth—time this week, she gave me no answer. I called out to her, and still I received no word, no confirmation that she had heard me at all.

The worst thing was that, on those increasingly rare occasions where Robin found herself outside of her bedroom, she adamantly denied that there was anything wrong to begin with. Of course there was something wrong! Yet, this empty husk of the woman that saved me from myself countless times told me that she was okay. 'Okay'? What was 'okay' about any of this?

It was driving me mad, worrying about her, wondering if she would return to her former self soon. It took immense willpower to not break her door down and demand some sort of explanation, but I could never bring myself to do so. One, because forcing her to talk would be wrong, and would possibly do more harm than good.

And two… I simply can't deal with that floating hand questioning me about destroying the mansion's property.

I was frustrated, but I didn't realize how frustrated I was until my fist slammed down onto the table, nearly knocking over Shulk's bowl of cereal.

"I-is everything all right?" His face was full of concern, despite the fact that his breakfast was almost ruined by my hand. Literally.

I stared up at him, horrified that I let my temper flare out of control so easily like that.

"My apologies! I suppose I was a bit too deep in thought."

"It's about Robin, right?"

I should have been more surprised, but Shulk was naturally perceptive, a skill that I envied greatly. Not only that, but aside from myself, Shulk was the only one that knew about Robin's current… situation. The three of us shared meals together daily, in some sort of unspoken tradition between us. Now that three had dwindled down to two, it left a massive hole in our group dynamic—a Robin-shaped hole that only Robin herself could fill, her playful jabs, biting sarcasm, and all.

"She's missed another meal." It scared me how casual it was to say those words. They flew from my mouth like a blast from a cannon—so easy, so free, but with so much impact once they met their destination. In this case, Shulk's ears.

"Robin's never been one to give up. She's a lot stronger than she looks."

Between mouthfuls of the most dry, bland cereal I had ever laid eyes upon—though I found myself silently wondering if he was born without taste buds—Shulk made excellent points. Not excellent enough to satisfy me.

"Then, what do we do?"

"We'll just have to wait for her to come around."

"Wait? For how much longer am I supposed to simply wait?!"

Shulk's eyes told the story, widening in shock at my sudden outburst. Whether or not anyone else in the vicinity had heard, I wasn't sure, and I dare not glance around to check. I exhaled deeply, calming myself before responding any further.

"I'm sorry. I'm just at a loss. Part of me wants to storm into her room and demand an explanation."

"…But?"

"But the other part of me is screaming to trust that she'll talk when she's ready. Still, I feel as though I'm abandoning her either way. It's all very confusing."

I wasn't searching for any specific answer from him, but venting and relaying what was on my mind always helped, if only momentarily. Luckily, Shulk was a fantastic listener. I often found myself questioning if everyone from Shulk's homeland was like him—deeply curious about far too many things, kind-hearted and caring—although he assured me multiple times that there were good and bad people, like anywhere else.

My mind wandered to the pact Robin and I made—a pact to visit Shulk's home one day, hoping to receive a grand tour of all the places he had spoken of in great detail. Robin's face especially lit up at the colorful description of 'Nopon,' rambling on about how much she would love to study them for some research topic that Shulk and I were fairly certain she made up. We both knew she only wanted to hug one.

Shulk must have noticed the wistful expression plastered across my face, as he gave me a sympathetic smile from the other side of the table. Would Robin and I ever be able to make that journey together? Were the promises we made to each other dead and forgotten? No that couldn't be so—I didn't want it to be so. I had to believe in her ability to overcome this, like she's overcome every other obstacle that dared block her path.

She was always invincible.

I wanted to tell Shulk—tell him everything else that I was thinking—but my mouth stopped itself halfway on its trip, my voice catching itself mid-sentence, as I noticed the locks of light-colored hair swaying to and fro behind him.

Robin was out of her room.

I tried my best not to stare, but I failed, my mouth hanging widely agape as my eyes took in her tired form. It was like watching a shooting star—I was afraid I'd miss her if I turned away. My worries were immediately proven unfounded, however, as she strolled over to our table. It was easy to tell that Robin was not fully awake. Her back was slouched as she walked, her steps shaky and unrefined, seemingly walking across a tightrope.

"Gee, is it tired in here, or is it just me?"

While Shulk offered Robin a pity chuckle, I afforded her no such luxury. Her awkward attempt at a joke was devoid of any of the natural charm it would typically have coming from her.

While the shock of seeing Robin still dominated my thought process, Shulk was a lot quicker to collect himself, motioning for Robin to sit by patting the chair to his right.

"Breakfast won't last forever, you know!"

Robin shook her head 'no' in response. No? How could she say 'no'? When was the last time she had eaten breakfast? Lunch? A midday snack? Anything?!

"Y-you really should eat with u-"

"I came here to ask one of you to train with me out by the garden."

Though posed as a question, it came out like a demand. It was then—as her steely-eyed gaze pierced through me—that I saw it. Her cheeks, puffy and red, almost swollen as if she'd recently been in an intense battle. The palpable, dark circles lurking beneath her eyelids, desperately trying to claw their way into her vision.

She wasn't sleeping either. Robin spent so much time alone nowadays. If not sleeping, then what on earth was she doing during the night? It amazed me that she was able to function. I wanted to deny her request outright and suggest once more that she eat, but Shulk answered her for me.

"I suppose it's never too early to start training. You should go for it, Lucina."

I gave him a quizzical look, but all I received was a nod in response. Ah, I realized. He was offering me the chance to speak to Robin privately, an offer that I hastily accepted.

"Oh, um... Very well then. Let's go."

Get it together, I scolded myself, praying to the gods that my nervousness hadn't made me seem too suspicious. If they had, Robin didn't notice, or maybe didn't care, as she spun on her heel, with what I assumed was the signal for me to follow. So, with one last reassuring smile from Shulk, that's exactly what I did.

I wish I had as much faith in myself as he did.

* * *

Thirty minutes into our so-called 'training' and it was already proving to be a disaster. Though she was adept at wielding tomes, her swordplay was never her strong suit, her speed and dexterity holding her back in that regard. But this? This display was far beneath what she was capable of.

Robin swung her wooden practice blade wildly, with little to no thought put behind each of her strikes. Her movements, as expected, were sluggish, her attacks repeatedly telegraphed as she walked in slow motion. I effortlessly sidestepped every single one without fail. I barely had to raise my own wooden blade at all, watching as she tired herself out, desperately seeking to land a blow like a woman possessed. What she was trying to prove, I hadn't a clue, but I decided that this had gone on long enough. I stuck my sword out during one of her frenzied, miscalculated attacks and her own sword flew straight out of her hands.

"That's enough, Robin."

She didn't listen. She scrambled to find her sword, grasping it tightly around the hilt once she did so.

"Again."

"No."

"I said, again!"

Without warning, Robin swung her sword down at full force. Caught off guard, I struggled to meet her blade with my own, just barely able to defend myself as I fell to one knee. Still, in her exhausted state, she was in no position to overpower me. I managed to shift my weight onto my supporting knee and pushed upward with as much force as I could muster. Robin stood little chance—the wooden weapon was knocked from her hands again as she fell on her rear. Robin made one final reach for the sword, but I kicked it away, tossing my own sword to the side soon after.

"Look, Robin. I didn't push you on the matter because I thought that you were handling things on your own, but this has been going on for far too long. Please, just tell me —tell me what's wrong!"

Robin sat on the ground, her face twisting into a mix of irritation and anger when she looked up at me. With much effort, she stood up, not bothering to dust herself off.

"Gods, this again? 'Wrong, wrong, wrong'—I told you before, nothing is wrong! Everything is fine! Nothing is wrong! Nothing! Okay?! Nothing is wrong!"

I watched in horror as Robin repeated those words to herself, her voice lowering more and more as she did, to the point where it became unintelligible mumbles. She clutched at her own head, shaking it wildly as her face contorted even more. She seemed to be in pain—mentally or physically, I couldn't tell. I was ill equipped to handle this, but I had to try. I had to try for her.

"Robin, please. Just… just talk to me. I want to make your suffering go away. I want to help, but you need to talk to me."

At first, I wasn't certain if she was listening. After a few of the most anxious seconds of my entire life, Robin slowly opened one eye to look at me. Finally, she dropped her arms to her side, regaining some semblance of normalcy as she spoke, my words having at least somewhat of an effect on her.

"O-okay."

"Right. Okay."

Slowly, she led me through the mansion's garden, the combination of its colorful flowers and intoxicating aroma betraying the gravity of the situation. The flowers in this garden—a myriad of colors that painted the outside walkway like a shimmering rainbow—always served to remind me that things would get better. Even now, as Robin and I trekked through the garden in silence, I looked to the tulips, daisies, and roses for some form of comfort.

Robin had led me to a bench, one that I couldn't recall ever seeing before. As we sat, I took in the atmosphere once again. I only wished that we could've marveled at the scenery together under better circumstances.

We sat. And we sat. And we sat. And we sat. We sat until the sun began to slowly descend. We sat until the breeze began to pick up. We sat until I wasn't sure whether or not Robin intended to talk. We sat until my impatience and worry began to boil over and cause me to sweat. We sat until she spoke.

And she spoke.

"I've been having nightmares."

And it wasn't what I was expecting.

"Nightmares?"

She nodded in affirmation, confirming that I hadn't misheard.

Nightmares. Nightmares so intense that they interfered with every aspect of her life. The thought was frightening, but I needed to know more.

"For how long?"

"A few weeks before we arrived here, I think."

I froze. When we arrived here. There was no way that her statement could be accurate. That was nearly four months ago! Surely she must have misjudged. She couldn't have been suffering in silence this whole time. She just… she just couldn't have!

"B-but that months ago. Why didn't you say anything before?"

"I guess—I don't know. I guess I figured I'd be able to handle it. And I did, up until a few weeks ago. They've been getting worse."

She stared at the ground, and I could see her hands clutching tightly at the hem of her robe.

"Every time I close my eyes, they're there. Everyone that I've let down, everyone that I let die because of a strategy gone wrong. It started off with just one soldier, just one. Then another, and another, and another! And now every time I sleep, our friends—our friends that I let die—remind me of what I did to them.

Every night they're there, waiting for me. 'You did this,' they keep telling me. And all I can do is yell and scream. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to die!' I didn't want anybody to die, but they did. They died because I let them. They died because I wasn't good enough. Your father-"

Robin paused at the thought of my father. She let out a strangled gasp, the sound of a dying animal escaping her throat. I couldn't tell her to stop. Not now.

"Your father trusted me with his life. They all did, and so many of them paid for it. You could've been one of them, and sometimes in my sleep, I see it. I see your face, and it's cold. Your body is cold, and it scares me. It scares me so much that I can't sleep. I refuse to sleep. I don't deserve to sleep, or eat, or anything!"

Everything made sense. Finally, it made sense. Robin blamed herself for everything that happened with my father's army. She was the lead tactician—she was in charge of every battle, advising the troops as best as she could. Casualties were a grotesque side effect of war, and we lost many friends. Yet, to blame herself for their deaths and to carry that weight on her shoulders for so long. She was being unfair to herself, falling deeper and deeper into her mind, allowing her subconscious thoughts to take over her life. It was horrible.

Even more horrible, still, was me. Robin was suffering for so long, but I never noticed. I never noticed because I never paid enough attention to her feelings. Robin was someone that I looked up to, a dear friend whose traits I wanted to emulate. Courageous, iron-willed, always willing to do what was best for everyone. But underneath that courage and iron-will was a person with feelings and emotions.

Feelings and emotions that I never noticed.

It was easy to say that Robin was always cheerful, but that was because she never let her negative feelings show—or perhaps I never bothered to truly pay attention. She wasn't a machine, she was a human being that could be sad, or angry, or hurt. I built her up as some sort of unbreakable wall, all while her foundation was steadily crumbling around her. I left her alone, and I didn't even know it.

I swore right then and there that I would make it up to her, somehow, starting with this.

"I'm so sorry, Robin. I… I wish I could take your pain away. I know how awful nightmares can be."

She looked up at me with a surprised look on her face, before it changed into one of realization.

"Ah, right. Your own future wasn't exactly pleasant."

"I still have nightmares of my own from time to time, s-so you're not alone!"

I was shouting, unintentionally so, but I wanted to get my point across as best as I could.

"How do you deal with them?"

"One nightmare at a time."

Truthfully, I didn't know how to answer her question. At the end of the day, I didn't really 'deal' with them so much as I merely accepted them as part of my life. I relayed this to Robin before continuing on.

"Although, talking with you about them sometimes helps. That, and talking to myself. I know that sounds a bit-"

"Crazy?"

"… I was going to say 'childish.'"

Robin, for the first time in weeks, smiled a pure, genuine smile. It was beautiful, and it was something I didn't know I missed so much until I saw it in all of its glory. I didn't care if it was a joke at my expense—it filled my heart with so much happiness, so much warmth.

"Robin, I don't know how much help I'll be, but I want you to know that—that I'll always be here for you! If you need to talk about your nightmares. Or, um, if you don't want to talk, that's perfectly acceptable as well."

"Lucina."

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Robin stared at me, the smile that I loved still adorning her face. Then, what came as a shock to us both, tears began forming around her eyes. She put a finger to her eye, double-checking to see if the wetness around her face was actually coming from her. Robin started shaking, her body physically fighting against the urge to let everything out.

A gasp escaped from her lips as I wrapped my arms around her. I guided her head gently into me, letting her rest it against my chest. I felt her tremble beneath my fingertips, afraid to let go. She gave me one final glance—asking for my permission with just a look—and I stroked her hair in response. With one last shudder, Robin did the one thing I had never seen her do.

She cried.

Robin cried into my shirt, letting out gasps and sobs, screeches and yells. But she was also letting out months of sadness, months of heartache, self-hatred and grief. Her emotions came pouring out of her in waterfalls, and this time—this time I could see.

Robin might not be an unbreakable girl, but as long as we're together, I'll always be there to help her pick up the broken pieces.


End file.
